Not Picasso or Goya

 

                                                                                   

Lovely

 

Someday, when I'm awfully low

and the world is cold

I will feel a glow, just thinking of you

and the way you look - tonight.

Oh but you're lovely
with your lining warm
and your feel so soft
There is nothing for me
but to love you,
just the way you look

 tonight.

Open the door, Hal

 

"I can't do that, Dave."

Winchester

 This tin contains the official Winchester

ambush guide for 2006.

1.  Find a comfortable location.
2.  Make sure you're in the shade.
3.  Have water & snacks available.
4. A two-way radio is recommended.
5.  Have a first-aid kit handy.
6.  Use sunglasses & sunscreen.
7.  If you play a radio, use headphones.
8. Schedule replacements every 4 hours
9. Use only Winchester authorized bullets.
10. Shoot responsibly

Could use a good cleaning.

 

My thoughts have even more clutter than this.  Some of my older thoughts are thick with dust, and when I attempt to use them, they leave marks of where they’ve been sitting.  Eventually, my brain looks like a schematic, lines going every which way, rings left where coasters should have been, bits of ideas that no longer connect to anything.  I probably should take a moment.

 

 

She might be under the couch.

 While walking my dog, Yoyo,

she broke free.

Cloven hooves

 

It is strongly recommended
that before sticking cloves into your ham
you wash and rinse them
thoroughly,
removing all traces of hooves.

9 am

 

    For whatever reason, my cell phone dings when it is nine in the morning.  It does this every day.  I don't have it set to do this, it just does.  I don't want it to.  I don't care that it is 9 am.  I have no meetings scheduled, no tee times, or doctor's appointments.  I wish it would leave me alone.  Even setting it to mute doesn't help.  It still dings.

 

    Maybe I should ask Alexa to fix it.  She seems to know everything. 

 

    Alexa, make my smart phone dumb again.  Take away it's sense of time.  Remove it's location finder, so it has no clue which time zone it is in.  Black out the camera so it can't tell sunrise from sunset.  Just leave it's ability to make and receive phone calls.  Wouldn't that be a good thing for a phone to do?

Maybe Tomorrow

 

The best description for her bicycle would be rickety.  Both tires were wonky, the brakes squeaked loudly, and it never did steer correctly.  As she rode along the side streets the cars passing her always moved way over, afraid she would tumble into them at any moment.

 

There was a battery-operated radio hanging from the handlebars, saddlebags across the rear fender, with her cat looking out from one side and a foldable fishing pole protruding from the other.  Towns people called her Bike Lady, but I doubt anyone actually knew her name.  There were always stories going around about her and bad jokes, usually about her fishing just to feed her cat.

 

I found it to be sad, she lived in this community, yet nobody talked to her, found out about her, nothing.  That really bothered me.  Who was she?  Did she grow-up here, go to school here?  I wondered how I could talk to her without scaring her.  She’d probably think I was trying to sell her something.  Maybe she kept her bicycle that way so no one would steal it.  Did she live in a house, was she homeless?

 

The more I thought about it, the more I felt a sense of urgency.  I didn’t want to be driving home one day and see her crumpled bike laying in the road.  How sad would that be?  A person passing through this life, going completely ignored by everyone.  I could tell this was festering in me, but I didn’t want to do anything stupid, like follow her the  next time I saw her riding.  That would surely creep her out.  Then again, maybe she liked being alone.  Maybe it was her, that didn’t like us, the town’s people.  I guess it was altogether possible she is married.  No.  What kind of husband would leave her bike in such disrepair?

 

        And another thing, where did she fish?  Was she one of the people fishing from the bridge, or was she one of those crazy ones, fishing from the rocks, while the waves crashed around them?  If it was from the bridge, how could you stand there for hours and not talk to the person fishing right next to you?  Someone around here must know her.

 

        I had to get some answers, I really did.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll…  I’ll what?  Buy a can of cat food and follow her?  Steal her bicycle and leave a new one in its place?  I don’t think so.  Why was I getting so obsessive about this?  I should leave her alone, just like the rest of this town.  Mind my own business.

 

        Nope.  That’s not me.

 

 

Sitting Ducks

 

We were both tired of paddling, so we were just letting the current ease the canoe downstream.  Every now and then we had to duck.  The branches along the edge that were hanging over the water would smack us if we didn’t.

Occasionally, a fish would jump.  We think they were trying to catch the passing bugs that were flying just above the water.  We didn’t see anyone else on the river but we could hear voices.

        Just around the bend we could see a bridge up ahead.  We could now tell where the voices were coming from.  We think they were kids, armed with water balloons.   We were about to get bombed.  There wasn’t going to be any way to avoid it.  Then, just before we were within range, I carefully stood up and pointed to the kids on the bridge, while at the same time, I looked off to the right and yelled, “They’re on the bridge.”

        My plan worked.  The kids on the bridge thought for sure we had friends on shore.  They took off running.  I sat back down, and we picked up our paddles to scoot further past the bridge.

        Little did we know, the rest of the kids were standing on the shore just on the other side of the bridge.  They all had a clear shot and we got soaked.

 

       

 

 

Inky

 

    For many years I kept this photograph hanging on the fridge.  It is a picture of my friend and his new puppy, Inky.  He lived on the opposite side of the block from us and was the first person to come over to see if the new family that had moved in had any kids his age.  They did, it was me.  We were instant buds.  We played every day, went to school together and eventually graduated together.  We were two peas in a pod.

        After school, I joined the Air Force, and he went into the Marines.  I keep this picture because I like to remember him at this age.  The age we had the most fun.  We didn’t know much but that was okay.   Life then wasn’t about fighting wars, or following orders, it was simple.  The order of the day was – have fun.

        This picture helps to keep away the image of a headstone, sitting lonely on a quiet hillside.  It helps me to keep one foot in the past, even though the past had bad dad haircuts and sharp puppy teeth.  It was all good.

Out of Time

 

The clock has worked for years, always
keeping accurate time, and showing
when it was time for dinner or
when it was past our bedtime.

Two days ago it ran out of tics.
We were hungry but didn't know why.
Then we found ourselves stumbling around
in the dark.  We were confused.  This had
never happened before. What was going on?
We were tired and hungry and...
finally we noticed our time had run out.
Neither of us had a hidden stash of tics
anywhere.  Maybe it was time
for a new clock.
We took this one off the wall and stuck it
by the door.  We'd dispose of it in the morning.

Apparently the threat of being tossed out
was enough to scare it back to life.
The next morning it once again had the 
correct time.
We had breakfast, then hung it back up.

Just to make sure we don't go through this again,
we're going to order a case of tics from Amazon.
The case holds 525,600 tics.
That is enough for one year.

 

A Close Shave

 

I noticed it when I was shaving.  I was rinsing the safety razor under the running water when my thoughts suddenly shrunk down to almost a molecular level.  I could see, just about feel the razor blade splitting the water molecules into slivery splinters.  Some falling to the left, while other liquid shards cascaded over the head of the chrome razor.

Just below the shaver, the water pieces were meeting up again, curing themselves just before disappearing into the drain.  Suffice it to say, I'm happy my thoughts sprang back to full size.  I doubt I'd want to experience all of life seeing each and every detail.  In fact, if that never happens again, I’ll be perfectly happy.

No, there were no drugs or alcohol involved.
        It was just me.

The Itch

 

Many poems

are often writ

about the itch

and scratch of it,

I proclaim

the worst itch put

is on the bottom

of a foot,

attached to leg

the furthest south

with dentist fingers

in your mouth.

Had I known

 

what the value of this car was going to be worth today,

I never would have let the neighborhood kids
climb all over it.

Only if you don't drink the milk

Zero calories, no carbs, no sugar
no trans fats, nothing artificial 

no preservatives, or taste.
No GMO's and no MSG.

The only expiration date will be yours.

 

 

Is it too much to ask?

 

    Just once I’d like to pick up a book or see a movie that doesn’t involve murder, guns, torture, kidnapping, deviant behavior, terrorist, evil, animal cruelty, or political shenanigans.

    Really, how hard can it be to make something nice? 

    Maybe even fun.

    and don't look to Disney.  They'll send in flying monkeys.

    Trust me, nobody needs flying monkeys. 

 

A Letter to Foscoe Sage

 

August 28, 2024

 

Dear Foscoe,

My letters are not always worthy of the price of postage, but they make me feel as though I am getting to once again talk with you.  I can’t help but picture you still living in California.  You were there for so many years and that is where we met.  We were factory workers back then, you operating some machine, and me down the aisle working on another.  I don’t even remember what we were making.  I do remember that even back then we both enjoyed writing.  Our friendship is sort of an odd thing to grow out of metal shavings and machine oil, but there we grew.

Off on our own adventures, our lives taking various paths, and unexpected turns, and every once in a while we’d connect, either by letters, phone calls or emails.  Yes, long ago, you would send me emails.  I still have them all.  Now, of course, you’re living in a place that experiences all the seasons.  You have taught your son to build snowmen, while I have slid down Mount Kilimanjaro on a borrowed toboggan, only to be arrested at the bottom.  There weren't any signs saying not to.  

We have both experienced health-related adventures that we could have done without.  I expect those were just more left turns along our paths.  I fully understand you most likely will never send a letter in return, but I hang on to the possibility.

  It’s the same with my blog.  I try to add to it every day, knowing that nobody will write back.  It is the smallest of hopes that someone I have never met, and may never meet, one day sends a message back, even if it is just as non-sensical as the stuff I write.  Who knows?

OK, so I’m hanging up now.  I have rambled on long enough.  I hope this letter finds you well and in good spirits.  Say, “Hi” to the fam for me and I will go and plop this into the mailbox.

 

Your Old Pal

Zobostic Corwin

 

 

 Mr. Foscoe Sage

 

Make Offer

 

I just got this from a scalper.  

He assured me it's good for the entire day.

and free parking

Eyewitness Testimony

 

The courtroom looked rich, dressed in polished mahogany and smelling of expensive aftershave.   The sound of high-priced shoes were too respectful to echo in such a large room.  In all her days, Mary had never seen such a place as this.  Her nervousness was apparent to every juror and even the judge leaned forward, his hand covering the mike, asked her if she was feeling alright.

Her voice raspy, her throat dry, she simply nodded.  The judge leaned back and told the lawyers to resume.  As the prosecuting attorney began to read from a manila folder, Mary wasn’t listening.  Her thoughts were picturing her having such a house as this place, fancy wood trim, slow churning ceiling fans that didn’t squeak or wobble.   She wondered just how much money it must take to live like this.

By the time she heard her name, it had been the second time the lawyer had tried to get her to answer the question.  Now she was embarrassed and self-conscious.  She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.  She looked up at the judge and said, “Can I just go home?”

The prosecutor could feel the wind leaving his sails, and as he glanced over towards the defense table he saw a slight smile and a quick little wink.  He looked back at the judge, hoping for a sign or anything to hang onto, but all he saw was the judge looking back at him and shrugging.  You win some - you lose some. 

 

 We'll take a recess here.

        What Mary didn't tell the judge was that she recognized the prosecutor's shoes from before, during the robbery. 

Somehow - it got in

 

It was the clanging that woke us.  It was coming from the garage.  I thought I had gotten out of bed rather quickly, but Claudia was already in the kitchen when I got there.  She looked scared.  I can't ever remember seeing her actually scared before.

 

"Don't open the door.  Something is definitely in the garage."  I knew she was right, but how could they have gotten the big garage door open.  I had to see what it was.  I told her to have her phone ready.  Either we'll snap a picture, or we'll call 911.

 

The clanging was still going on.  Slowly I turned the doorknob.  I wanted to reach in and snap on the light, but then again, I didn't want anything to happen to my hand.  I just didn't know what to expect, but I couldn't just stand there.  I flung the door open and snapped on the light at the same time.

 

I couldn't really comprehend what I was seeing.  I felt myself shutter and I let out an audible gasp.  From behind me Claudia yelled, "What is it?"

 

Without looking back at Claudia, I reached my hand behind me and said, “Hand me your phone.  I’ve got to get a picture of this thing.”  Curiosity, however, got the better of her and she pushed her way up next to me so she could see for herself.  She let out a very loud scream and dropped her phone at the same time.

 

 

The clanging we heard was one of the giant beetle’s antennas that was swinging back and forth hitting against the aluminum ladder that was leaning against the wall.  Without exaggeration, the beetle was just about the same size as my car.  It seemed to be wedged between our stack of suitcases and the car.  It was hideous.  I didn’t understand its features, pinchers protruding from the sides of its mouth, the creepy eyes that were now focused on the two of us, and the smell, oh my Goodness – the smell.

 

I started to reach down to pick up the cell phone, but the minute I did, it tried to lunge at us.  Fortunately, it was quite stuck where it was.  I kept my eye on it but continued to retrieve the phone.  I handed it to Claudia and told her to just start snapping pictures.  “Our pest control company isn’t going to believe this.  Heck – Stephen King wouldn’t believe this.”

 

As I looked past the beetle, I could see the large garage door was still closed, so it didn’t get in that way.  As I continued to look for other entry points, I noticed the large hole in the ceiling.  The thing had been up in the attic.  “This isn’t good.” I said aloud.  Claudia poked me in the ribs, and asked, “What isn’t good?”

 

“The attic is over the entire house.  If there are more of these things, they could come down anywhere, in any room.”

 

Amazon

 

What I need is a tube of squeamish eradicator.  Extra strength, if possible.  I never wanted to be squeamish, I’ve just been this way as long as I can remember.  Bugs creep me out, the sight of blood, even if it isn’t mine, gives me the willies.

 

So far, the reviews all say the stuff works great.  One lady reported that after just one application of Ick-B-Gone she could go around stomping on bugs with her bare feet, and it didn't bother her in the least.  In fact, she began to enjoy it so much, she started going outside searching for bugs to squish with her bare feet.  She stopped when the neighbors began to talk.  

She gives it five stars.

 

 

 

HA! Made you look.

 

I must look like a Schmuck

 

One guy tried to sell me a whistle
that only dogs could hear.
"I don't think so, Pal"

Then, there was the dude selling a
rodent repellant device.  He said it emits
a noise that drives mice away, but
we can't hear it.
"Get away from me."

Now, this joker tries to sell me these
glasses.  He says they will protect me
from harmful UV rays.
They're around, but we can't see them.

"What?  You think I was born yesterday?"

Appreciate Goofy

 

Just for a moment, turn down all the noise of the election, shut off the news and weather.  Walk outside and look up, no matter if it is day or night.  Just look.  Think of just how tiny we are in the universe.  Try to imagine how far – far away is.

Now, compare that to whatever it is you’ve been worrying about.  Suddenly, all the nonsense in this blog won’t seem like such a major waste of time.  The only thing we actually must do is enjoy life.  Smile, appreciate goofy.

Like that whole stapler thing.  You know I was kidding, right?

 

 

 

 

Right?

Odd Jobs

 

As the massive freighter made its way through the water there were hundreds of metal flakes falling off the sides of the ship.  If you were close enough it appeared as though it were raining.   Nobody seemed concerned but me, then again, this entire activity was new to me.  Everyone else must have seen it all before.

It was the job of the mail boat to deliver the week’s mail to the freighter as it passed.  Compared to the passing ship, the mail boat was tiny.  The captain had to know what he was doing, or his little mail boat would get sucked under the freighter as it moved.  It had happened before.

I noticed two things.  Besides the mail, pizzas were also hoisted up the rope, and everyone on the small mail boat had on hats and safety glasses.  This had to be because of the shower of falling metal flakes landing on them.

When I think of the post office delivering letters, I had no idea this was part of the job.  Yikes!

     

 

Can't wait for October

 

Little known fact

 

The stapler was invented before paper.

Mr. Randal Nelson, of the U.S. Patent office

was the first person to use one on a 

12 page report requesting a patent

on paper clips.

Picasso in grade school

 

Elixir

 

        The thing is, I've not opened it.  I bought it some 18 years ago from a guy at a Tommy Bahama store.  He didn't even work there.  He was explaining how he had come to have it, and I couldn't help hearing everything.  When the lady he was talking with didn't seem to be interested, I asked if he'd consider selling it.  It all seemed so cool at the time, but now I can't even remember what is in it or what it cures.  The one thing I do remember is that I'm never supposed to shake it. I'm pretty sure it's just been sitting here since then.

Her name is Chianti

 

and apparently she can sleep through anything.

 

Draw a box

 

This is the entrance exam for getting admitted to automotive design school.

No computer experience?  No problem.

If you have a pencil and a ruler, lack ambition, have no sense of creativity and your socks always match, then you can have a career designing today’s cars.

Our top graduates, even after only completing 10 weeks of training, were drawing boxes on their own.  That’s right, no supervision.

Gone are the days when cars had personality, style and class.  Fins?  Fuhgeddaboudit.  Wind resistance?  That's old school.  No longer do automakers look to the animal kingdom for inspiration.  There are no Stingrays, or Impalas, in fact, we don’t even name them anymore.  They are assigned letters, that when put together are just like the latest drugs, unpronounceable.

So why wait?  If you lack inspiration and can draw a box, see us about an exciting career in car design.

 

 

 

 

This call may be monitored

 but it won't be.  If we really cared about quality we would have had an actual person speaking with you now instead of this recording.  Do you really think we are going to pay someone to listen to this gibberish?  I don't think so.

It's far cheaper for us to pay a one time fee for this recording, than it would be to put an actual quality control system in place.  Get real, people.  Quality, like service is a thing of the past.

I take that back.  There is poor quality and bad service.  That's why they sell extended warrantees.  They are well aware their stuff is going to fail, so you either pay them when it breaks, or pay them ahead of time.  Either way, you lose. 

Note:

This post is not the opinion of
Zobostic Corwin, but simply the
ramblings of a disgruntled consumer. 
We here, at Blog City, take a dim view
of whiners.  Not that we would call anyone
a whiner.  Name calling is not the policy here
at Blog City.
Just consider the source folks.

  The guy's a whiner. 

From both sides now

 

The distance up to that passing cloud seems like quite a hike.  If I didn’t have a fear of heights, I’d go for it.   I can’t really tell from here how fast it is going.  I haven’t got any point of reference, so I’m guessing I couldn’t walk a straight line up to it.  I would have to walk at some calculated angle to compensate for its direction of travel.

None of this, however, takes footwear type into account.  Boots would be too heavy and only add to my fight against gravity.  Flip-flops and slippers are out of the question.  For one thing, I can’t stand those flip-flops that have that piece of rubber between your toes.  That would drive me nuts.  Not sure who came up with that design, but I hate it.

Should this adventure be successful, what do I do once I’m there?  I doubt sitting down to rest would be an option.  The other consideration is all the things we don’t see from down here looking up.  You hear about this from the people taking rides in hot-air balloons.  Floating spider webs, complete with spiders.  Bugs of all sorts flying around.  You’ll want to keep your mouth closed.

Maybe I’ll rethink this whole thing.